


Postmortem

by SkeletalConstellation



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Character Death, Everyone is Dead, Ghosts, Ghouls, I mean, Jon has The Sight and wishes he didn't, Jon needs a raise, M/M, Martin is a lonesome poltergeist off in a potter's field, Near Death Experiences, Past Character Death, REALLY BADLY, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sad-ish, Talking To Dead People, Well - Freeform, Zombies, all my friends are dead, brief vampire mentions, death doesn't stop Tim from being a little shit at times, except Jon and a select few others, ghost Martin, is it technically major character death if everyone's already dead?, oh hey I wrote a jonmartin fic that WASN'T monster!jon, oh my!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkeletalConstellation/pseuds/SkeletalConstellation
Summary: Jonathan Sims is the groundskeeper of a local cemetery who, due to unfortunate past circumstances, has the ability to see ghosts, much to his own chagrin.When songs start echoing from the nearby potter's field, Jon makes the resolutionnotto go investigate.Which is why he definitely doesnotbreak in to confront the lonesome creature within.That would be ridiculous.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Other(s), Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 15
Kudos: 105





	Postmortem

**Author's Note:**

> hey look its not monster jon

"Hello, Jon! How're things going up here?"

"They'd be going a lot better if you would leave me alone for once."

Tim Stoker laughed in his warm, rich way, following Jonathan Sims on his rounds through the old cemetery. He had this annoying habit of showing up right as Jon thought he might skip out for the day, thoroughly ruining the groundskeeper’s mood every single time. "But it's so _fun_ to mess with you, you should know this by now!"

Tim stepped in front of Jon, leaning on the nearest headstone with that infuriating smirk always without fail got under Jon's skin. With a frustrated sigh, Jon glanced up at the man barricading his path and, without a second thought, stepped through him.

Because Tim Stoker wasn't really there in front of him- or, at the very least, his body wasn't.

Because he was dead.

Tim Stoker had died young, on November 5th, 1997, if his headstone was to be believed. He had, as Jon had quickly learned, been crushed to death when an abandoned wax museum he was exploring was blown up by a demolition crew. Although Jon had found many ghosts exaggerated the grandeur of their death, or even straight up lied, Tim's story was corroborated by the appearance of his spirit. He was, after all, missing a sizeable portion of his face, and several other parts of him seemed to be snapped, broken, or completely flattened. Needless to say, despite seeming like he may have once been handsome, he was not exactly a sight for the faint hearted.

Ah, Sight was a tricky thing, though. Jon had never wanted it, and if he had a choice he would gladly take the place of the average person who knew nothing of the supernatural. The "gift" of the Sight had been, in his opinion, an unwanted ability that had since caused more harm to him than good.

As Jon internally bemoaned his circumstances, another spectre made herself present, stretching her ectoplasmic arms as she appeared in front of her tomb. "Tim, can you keep it down? _Some_ of us would like to enjoy our eternal rest in _peace."_

Sasha James. Died June 17th, 1925. She had been a librarian who, in a bizarre twist of fate, was murdered by a close lookalike who proceeded to take her place until police found her body stowed in the library's janitorial closet. Of the two ghosts who played the most active role in his life, Jon found her far more tolerable. 

"Resting in peace is overrated. I have _eternity_ to rest, I'd much rather bug our living friend over here-"

"Your 'living friend' can hear you," Jon growled, waving his torch through the two bickering apparitions. "I have a job to do, keeping _your_ graves looking nice and making sure nobody messes up the place- don't you have something better to do?"

"Nope."

"Not particularly."

Jon felt his eye twitch.

Before he could speak, however, a cold wind blew through the graveyard, carrying the lonesome notes of an old song on it:

_O for the look of those pure grey eyes—_

_Seeming to plead and speak—_

_The parted lips and the deep-drawn sighs,_

_The blush on the kissen cheek!_

Jon felt his blood run cold, trying to figure out where the song originated from.

_O for the tangle of soft brown hair,_

_Lazily blown by the breeze;_

_The fleeting hours unshadowed by care,_

_Shaded by tremulous trees!_

As though his feet were not his own he followed the song, the protest of his friends falling on ears deaf to all but the mysterious song.

_O for the dream of those sunny days,_

_With their bright unbroken spell,_

_And the thrilling sweet untutored praise—_

_From the lips once loved so well!_

He did not register it as he passed through the churchyard gate, following the unseen siren across the street to the gate of another field.

_O for the feeling of days agone,_

_The simple faith and the truth,_

_The spring of time and life’s rosy dawn—_

_O for the love and the youth!_

The song ended, and instantly it relinquished its hold on his mind.

Finally free of the song's power, he could at last notice himself standing at the gate to the potter's field, a few acres of unmarked graves he dared not set foot within.

That same resolution was just as present tonight. The fact that something had managed to draw him to the gate didn't matter- he knew from the last groundskeeper's logs that nothing good rested in the potter's field.

And so, Jon turned back to his own graveyard, the song still playing in his mind.


End file.
